Love you not, then, to list and hear HOWITT. HUMANITY TOWARDS INSECTS. TURN, turn, thy hasty foot aside, The common Lord of all that move, The Sun, the Moon, the Stars He made And spreads o'er earth the grassy blade, Let them enjoy their little day, The life thou canst not give. "Most musical, most melancholy" Bird !* A melancholy Bird? oh, idle thought! And I know a grove * Milton. This grove is wild with tangling underwood, That should you close your eyes, you might almost You may perchance behold them on the twigs, And oft a moment's space, What time the moon was lost behind a cloud, COLERIDGE. The Nightingale, Sylvia Luscinia, is the largest of British warblers, and is deservedly esteemed for the variety and richness of its song, the compass of which is such as to reach through three octaves. This bird is said never to have ventured north of the Tweed,-the poet Leyden therefore feelingly laments: Sweet bird! how long shall Teviot's maids deplore Yet Douglas and Dunbar, though probably using only a poetical licence allude to its song, in their descriptive poems. Sir J. Sinclair endeavoured to introduce this delightful songster into the groves of Scotland. The eggs of Robins, Sylvia rubecula, were exchanged for those of the Nightingales, were hatched, and brought up by their foster parents. The young Nightingales migrated at the usual time, (September,) but never returned to the place of their birth.-Magazine of Nat. Hist., vol. 1. p. 376. It is strange that this lively bird should ever be thought melancholy :-no bird sings when it is sad:-its solitary habits and its love of the night have probably given rise to this opinion. The different views taken of its song by poets may be summed up in the words of the Abbé La Pluche: "The Nightingale," says that writer, "passes from grave to gay; from a simple song to a warble the most varied; and from the softest trillings and swells to languishing and lamentable sighs, which he as quickly abandons, to return to his natural sprightliness."-For a most interesting discussion on this subject, see, Habits of Birds, p. 284-289. TO A MOUSE. ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH. WEE, sleekit,† cow'rin, tim'rous beastie Wi' bickerin brattel! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, Wi' murdering pattle!|| I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle At me, thy pour earth-born companion, I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; 'S a sma' request: I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, And never miss 't! † Sleek, sly. A short race or hurry. An ear of corn now and then. A plough-staff. § A shock of corn. What is left, remainder. Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! An' bleak December's win's ensuin, Baith snell and keen. Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till crash! the cruel coulter pass'd Out through thy cell. That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, To thole the Winter's sleety dribble, But, mousie, thou art no thy lane, Gang aft a-gley,§ An' lea'e us nought but grief and pain, For promis'd joy. Still thou art bless'd, compar'd wi' me! The present only toucheth thee : But, och! I backward cast my e'e, On prospects drear, An' forward, tho' I canna see I guess an' fear. BURNS. * Build. Bitter, biting. The hoar-frost. Suffer, endure. § Wrong. |